


Used

by SuccubusKayko



Series: Give and Take [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Caning, Chair Bondage, Consensual Non-Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Knifeplay, Please suggest tags?, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Abuse, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuccubusKayko/pseuds/SuccubusKayko
Summary: The Warrior of Light learns what is it to be taken from.





	Used

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I wrote to get out some personal issues. This may change or get updated? Please suggest tags?
> 
> Inspired by the song 'Used' by Wyvern Lingo.

She had gone to him for comfort, once.

Comfort had not been what she received from Ser Aymeric, however.

When first she had come calling, he had been kind enough to her. His hands had been gentle, at first, smoothing over her as they made their way to his private chambers. Carefully, he stripped them of their armor, then their clothing after. He eased her down onto his bed, whispering words of comfort and calm. He had kissed her then, tentatively at first, then with more intent. His hands trailed down her body, his lips following in short order. He touched her with delicate fingers and whispering tongue, driving carefully to fall. Tears pricked at her eyes as he stepped between her thighs, though if he noticed, he made no indication. He took her, tenderly, gently. Too gently.

It was a short lived kindness. She could not stand him to treat her that way. For him to treat her as Haurchefant had.

When next she called on him, he began in much the same way. As he leaned to kiss her, tender, she bit him. He had stepped back, looking at her in shocked confusion. When at last leaned in to continue, she bit him again.

Hard.

Hard enough to draw blood. He had looked at her so incredulously, then, hand raising to his lip, coming away with blood.

She remembered feeling cold, in that moment, a defiant look in her eyes.

Even now, she could not say what emotion crossed his face.

The blue pools of his eyes darkened in a way that had sent a shameful shiver up her spine. He stepped purposefully to her, his hands rougher this time, taking instead of giving. She did little to fight him as he threw her down, forcefully pressing her into the bed. He did not care now, if she was ready for him. He took. He took and he took, leaving her panting and crying out in pain.

And she had given, left him with long, bloody scratches along his hands and wrists that she was sure he would have trouble explaining later.

The pain was a type of relief, she supposed, to her broken soul.

When next she visited him, she stole away in his quarters, falling asleep while waiting for him to return.

Cool steel closed over her wrists, before she was dragged up the length of the bed, chained to the bars of the head board. She did not look at him as he forced her to her knees, expecting him to take her just there. When nothing came, she dared to raise her eyes. As she lifted her head, she was rewarded with a heavy crack across her back side. Tears had sprung to her eyes and she could feel the residual sharp pain. His gloved hand rested upon her backside for a time, before pulling away. The cool air across the hot sting made her shiver. She cried out as another sharp clap landed, calculated and precise, in the same spot on her skin. He continued to spank her until her cries fell to silent sobs. Only then did he take her, his fingers digging into her bruised flesh, as he pounded her into oblivion.

And she had given, a swift headbutt to the face and left him with his nose bleeding.

Her next visit he was waiting for her.

He chained her to a chair, this time, locked her hands behind her back and her ankles to the legs. She glared defiantly at him as he raised the slender blade to her cheek, passing the flat edge across her flushed skin. When still she looked into his face, he traced the sharpened edge gingerly along a scar in the crook of her neck. She lowered her eyes, and shivered at the sensation of cool steel across her hot skin. He traced each scar on her body with calculated precision, the cold steel caressing her skin like claws. Careful, careful, never cutting, but the threat always there. He continued until she was shuddering and gasping violently, the anticipation of the bite of the blade driving her out of her mind. Only then did he take her, tipping her chair forward and fucking her mouth till her throat was raw and he was spent a few times over.

And she had given, the chair smashed over his head to leave him sputtering blood on the rug.

Each visit was a new torture, where he took and she gave.

A vicious caning, a vicious bite. Choking her till she saw stars. A broken rib.

Each was a new torture, him taking, her giving, escalating in extremity until their last.

And their last was the worst of tortures she could endure.

That last visit, she found him in his quarters, standing at the edge of the bed in his tunic and breeches, hair still slick from washing. She went to him, eyes down, daring not to look into his face. She waited for a long while for him to do something. To throw her down or beat her or fuck her till she was raw and screaming.

But that was not the way this worked.

His hand reached up to cup her chin, pulling her face gently upwards until she was looking into his eyes. Tears pricked her eyes as he leaned forward and kissed her, gentle and loving. His hands touched her tentatively, brushing the tips of his fingers and the back of his hand across her skin. He eased her down onto her back and kissed a trail down her body. Each scar and hurt soothed with the flick of the tongue or the gentle grazing of teeth. When finally he reached the cleft of her legs, he gently parted her with feather light touches of tongue and fingertip, taking her over the delicate edge of that small death.

Then he was kissing her again, a whispering trail of lips up the length of her body, worshiping her skin with care. His eyes caught hers and in them was such pain, such wonder, such reverence. When finally he reached her lips once more, he took them sweetly, whispering his prayer into her mouth.

And then she was touching him, pressing him easily into the bed below, her hands giving tenderness in return. The careful flick of dexterous fingers pulling away his clothing, the ghost of her lips chasing along his skin after the subtle shift of cloth. Each scar and hurt soothed with the flick of the tongue or the gently grazing of teeth.

They clung to each other, rocking together tortuously slow, until finally they were left panting and moaning each other's names.

She took and he gave.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or comments to let me know if you enjoyed this.


End file.
